Curiosity Stoned the Cat
by Negolith
Summary: Part of the Untamed Universe. Rodney gets curious, and John gets the munchies.


_Author's Note: Wow, the muse twitched, and it resurrected on the really obnoxious side!_

**Curiosity Stoned the Cat**

"Why do cats wiggle their ass before they attack?"

John had just taken a drink of milk when Rodney blurted out the question. He managed not to blow any out his nose, but he did swallow wrong. Once the coughing fit subsided he glared at Rodney. "Why the hell are you asking me?"

Rodney just fixed him with a disgusted look as if that was the stupidest question in the history of the universe.

"You _are_ a pussy," Ronon added rather matter-of-factly, his attention never leaving his breakfast.

"I am not…." John let out a frustrated growl that was three quarters real growl. "No, McKay – I don't know why cats wiggle their ass before they attack."

"Do you, you know, before…."

"No." The word was delivered as flat as his stare.

Teyla cleared her throat softly.

John stared at her in horror. "I do not!" His voice cracked with the protest.

Now all eyes at the table were focused on Teyla as she calmly sipped her tea. "I wouldn't necessarily call it a 'wiggle', but you do adjust your feet for a better stance before you leap." She smiled sweetly over the rim of her mug. "It does produce a rather … pleasing effect."

John's ears went crimson. "When did I…."

"Last week, in the greenhouse, when you tried to knock Ifan out of the air."

"Oh." John's attention was on his tray. "Almost got the little bastard, too," he muttered, a churlish grimace not quite hiding his embarrassment.

Rodney leaned forward, one forearm resting on the table, his right hand up and making a rolling motion as he looked back and forth between John and Teyla. "So you're saying the waggle is basically a result of, of, of the cat finding the optimum purchase for launch."

"That is a logical assumption," Teyla replied.

"And the butt getting higher and higher?"

"Spring loading?" Ronon supplied.

"Okay, no more talk about butts," John growled.

"What about butts?" Lorne asked as he came up to the table, his hands full with his own breakfast tray.

Jennifer was with him, and she perked up. "Whose butt?" Ronon pushed the empty chair next to him away from the table for her, and she flashed him a big smile as she sat.

"Baggy's butt," Ronon said.

"Oh." Jennifer drew the word out as she unwrapped her silverware. "And I wouldn't call _it_ baggy."

"That's it." John pushed away from the table and grabbed his tray. Now his neck was as red as his ears. "I have to take 'Jumper One to the mainland for some maintenance. Think I'll get an early start." He stomped away, head down.

Lorne raised an eyebrow at the rest of the group. "Well, what was that about?"

Rodney shrugged. "All I did was ask him why cats wiggle their ass before they attack," he said as he picked up his coffee. "That's all."

-oOo-

Turned out that that wasn't all. The question got Rodney's incredibly curious brain going into some odd, non-physics related territory. He'd owned cats – he _liked_ cats – and he got to thinking….

How would catnip affect John?

Would it even affect him at all? How much would it take? A good pinch was enough to send your average house cat into a rolling, sneezing, swatting-at-invisible-bugs stupor. What if that cat weighed, oh, one-eighty? Hmm. He made his calculations, ordered what he needed online, and after bribing the head of the kitchen staff with a bottle of scotch Carson would covet and a promise to clean up his mess under penalty of not being allowed to eat anything in the cafeteria for a month, Rodney started his experiment.

There were several things about Rodney that his fellow researchers on Atlantis would be surprised to learn. One was he could play the piano. Classical, honky-tonk, improv jazz – he could do it all. He hadn't played in years, but recently started again thanks to a random comment from Teyla and a really cool flat full sized keyboard he ordered that rolled up and could fit in a shoebox. It hooked up to a computer, and though it didn't have the nuance of the real thing, it worked and he was surprised at how much he missed playing. Another thing was he was a pretty decent hockey player – when he was in grad school and his age finally caught up to the other students around him he played in a weekend league for the hell of it. But eventually his studies got more and more intense and he had to quit.

However, the one thing that would shock the hell out of everyone on Atlantis was that Rodney was hell on wheels in the kitchen when it came to baking. He had a knack, and the few times he spent the holidays with his sister and her family, he was always delegated the task of making cookies and other sweet treats. He could just glance at a recipe and wing it, and it made Jeannie so jealous. Yup, he, Rodney McKay, the man who had absolutely no problem living on Powerbars and bland cafeteria food, could whip up a batch of cookies in his sleep that would make Mrs. Fields wail in utter despair.

It was just after midnight and Rodney had the humongous kitchen to himself – the first shift wasn't due to come in until four to start the day's bread and everything he did seemed to echo in the stainless steel and ceramic room. But then, it could be his newly enhanced hearing making it seem so. He had the batter ready for a double batch and now he was staring at the plastic tub of Kosmic Katnip (the deliberate misspelling drove him absolutely nuts) that he had ordered. The lid was off and he was frowning. The stuff had a pretty strong smell – kind of like minty pot – and he was thinking this might not work. John's sense of smell was excellent – not nearly as good as his, though, because they had determined he and a grizzly could go head to head in the sniffer department – but it may be problematical. He dumped the whole tub into the batter and mixed it in.

_Sniff_.

Nope, he could still tell even over the mouth watering chocolaty smell of the batter. Rodney searched the kitchen and came up with some butterscotch chips. They went into the batter, and while it baked he worked on his laptop and chewed on a completely unsatisfying chocolate Powerbar. By the time they came out of the oven he could still catch the slightly minty undertone of the catnip, but he was pretty damn sure John wouldn't be able to. He wrapped the pan in tinfoil and took it up to his room to finish cooling and catch some sleep before the final phase of the experiment.

-oOo-

Rodney knocked on John's door and bounced in place impatiently. He was about to knock again when it slid open and John blinked blearily at him. It was his day off, and judging from his wilder than normal hair and ten o'clock shadow he looked like he'd just crawled out of bed. He had a momentary panicked thought, but one discreet sniff assured him Dr. Espinoza wasn't there. "Hey, my sis sent a care package." He held up a tinfoil lined shoebox with the brownies, balancing it on his fingertips like a waiter. "And how do you feel about wasting some zombies?" He held up a video game in his other hand and waggled it back and forth.

John leaned forward, one hand on the doorjamb for balance, and inhaled deeply. Rodney's pulse shot up, but then John smiled goofily and sighed. "Brownies and mayhem? I'm up for that." He waved Rodney in.

Rodney barely got the box on the coffee table before John popped the lid and stuffed half a brownie in his mouth. When he suddenly paused in mid chew and a slightly troubled frown creased his brow, Rodney swore his heart stopped. Then John was staring at the brownie in something resembling awe as he finished chewing and swallowed. "Oh, man – your sister really needs to go into business because, seriously – this is the best thing I've ever tasted in my life!" He popped the rest in his mouth and groaned in pure bliss.

Rodney sighed in relief. "I'll, ah, let her know." He thrust the video game at him. "C'mon, Baggy – quit chewing and plug it in."

John took the game, but only after he grabbed another brownie. "Don't get your shorts in a twist, Baloo," he said around a mouthful. He turned around to get things set up, all the while making happy little groans as he chewed.

Rodney picked up a brownie and took a hesitant bite. He could smell the catnip, and definitely taste it, but the butterscotch did a wonderful job of masking it. He took a bigger bite. "Wow, these are good." _If I do say so myself_, he mentally added.

John just rolled his eyes and groaned in agreement.

During the course of the ensuing virtual zombie slaughter Rodney kept a close eye on John and took mental notes. He ate four or five of the brownies himself and noted no side effects, but as his friend snarfed up one after the other the results were getting rather amusing. It took four brownies before the effects were noticeable – John started grinning like a maniac, and actually showed teeth for a change.

And fangs.

Rodney was a bit concerned at first, but when John started to, well, _weave_ in place while sitting, he relaxed. The fang thing was obviously because the guy was getting seriously relaxed himself. And the more relaxed John got, the more he babbled.

"Oh, man, that is so sick and wrong!" John said with a laugh after one particularly nasty killing, and it was _his_ character that bit the dust. "I wonder what it would be like being a programmer on one of these games? What kind of research would you do? Watch 'Kill Bill' nonstop for days? You ever see that? That was such a funny movie – it was like watching Looney Tunes produced by someone on crack. All that spurting blood! C'mon, I've seen people get their heads ripped off – it doesn't geyser like a, a, a can of beer left out on the porch in January that goes…." He made an explosion sound. "Well, it does spurt but, but it's a little squishier. Especially after the initial…. Oh, man – he ganked me again! That is so not fair. My chainsaw was out of gas. Hey, Rodney, gimme your sawed off."

Rodney sat there, his expression somewhere between laughing and freaked out in mild horror. He so did not like the direction that particular monologue went.

Then John was up on his feet, and though he was still swaying like a drunken sailor, his speech pattern was ratcheting up to McKay speed. And he was starting to kind of act out his zombie attacks. "Hey, do you still have the flamethrower? 'Cuz seriously, we could so use the flamethrower right now. Oh, wait, I have the flamethrower. Nevermind. Screw the chainsaw. Oh yeah, that's better." He paused long enough to shove most of a brownie into his mouth, and since he couldn't talk and chew at the same time he resorted to making deep rumbling growls as he barbequed zombies.

Rodney swallowed. This was not going as he expected. John was supposed to be, well, going all Spicolli and mellow, not, well, psycho kitty. "Oh, um, hey – you might want to lay off…." He jumped when John just dropped his controller and bounded over to his mini-fridge.

"I need something to drink. You need something to drink?" He opened the door, looked in. "Damn, just water. I need a Coke. You want a Coke? Let's go down to the PX and get some Coke. I could really use a Coke. And some Cheetos. Yeah, definitely some Cheetos. The puffy kind, though, not the crunchy. Don't like the crunchy. Do you like the crunchy? If you do, we can get a bag for you."

"I don't need any Cheetos," Rodney replied as he dropped his own controller and stood. "And why don't we just stay…."

"That's cool. That's cool. We can get some Doritos – I know you like those. Heh, which is so funny 'cuz you smell like 'em now. Oh, and some Mountain Dew. All geeks like Mountain Dew." He picked up his ID badge from where it sat on the counter next to his fridge and was almost to his door before he suddenly stopped, turned around, and darted back to grab a couple brownies for the road. "Oh, man, I think I love your sister. She single?"

"She's married! She is, is, is so married!" Rodney blurted out to John's back as he headed for the door. "Hey – wait! Don't you think you should get dressed?" But it was too late, John was already out the door. He barreled forward, and by the time he got into the hall his friend was nearly two doors away. He caught up to him. "Really, you need to get dressed."

John looked down at his faded t-shirt, lounge pants, bare feet, and shrugged. "Eh, I'm covered." Then he was happily chewing away on a brownie and heading for the elevators. "And hey, I've run around here in less," he said around a mouthful. "And I know you made sure everyone had screen caps and videos. Oh, wait, no – that was Lorne. I still gotta get him for that." They were at the elevators and John hit the down button a half dozen times. "Say, you got any good dirt on him? I've been looking, but he's a fucking boy scout, I swear."

"Um … no." The elevator chimed and Rodney prayed it was empty, but when the doors opened they revealed a startled Zelenka.

John darted in, and before Rodney could even move his Czech colleague was in a headlock and getting a noogie that sent fine hair standing on end and made him look like a deranged myopic dandelion. "Radek! How's my favorite empath?"

The door started to close, but Rodney stuck his hand out and stopped them. "Sheppard, he's turning blue … wait, you're an empath?"

Zelenka was released, and as he smoothed down his hair with as much dignity as possible it was clear he wanted to escape but Rodney was blocking his way. John answered the question just as Radek opened his mouth. "Yup, he's an empath. Didn't you know? Why else do you think he get along so well with you? Hey, Radek – we're going down to the PX for snacks. Wanna come?" A saturnine grin lit John's face and he bounced up onto his toes a few times. "We're getting Cheetos. Everyone likes Cheetos. Except for Rodney."

Rodney rolled his eyes.

Zelenka blinked at John, then raised an eyebrow at Rodney. "Ah, no, thank you – I have laundry in drier." Then he just pushed his way past Rodney.

"Hey, laundromat's next to the PX – you can come with us!" John called after the retreating scientist. Then he frowned at Rodney. "You scared the empath off." And since Rodney was facing the way Zelenka disappeared, John Gibbsmacked him.

"Ow! Hey! Me?!? You're the one who scared him off. And seriously, we need to go back to your quarters. Now."

"But I'm hungryyyyy," John whined as he stabbed spastically at the atrium level button with a speed that made anything Rodney had ever done seem lackadaisical in comparison. Then he reached out and yanked Rodney into the elevator before he could block the doors again.

"Okay. Okay. We'll get your Cheetos. But it's going to be quick. A, a, a Black Ops Cheeto run. In. Out. No witnesses. Got it?"

John gave Rodney the sloppiest salute in history.

_Please please please, God – don't let Caldwell be in the atrium_, Rodney silently prayed. _That's all I ask. I'll be nice to my staff for a month if you grant me that_. When the doors opened, his shoulders just slumped. It was worse. So much worse.

Carson stood waiting for the elevator.

"Carson!" John darted forward and embraced the Scot in a bear hug. He even lifted him off the floor. "You're the world's greatest doc, ya know. Have I ever told you that?"

All Rodney could see was Carson's incredibly wide eyes over John's shoulder. "Oh, crap," he muttered as they fixed on his in question.

John put Carson down but didn't completely release him – he had his hands clasped on the man's shoulders. "You're awesome."

Rodney hoped the doors would close, but John was blocking them. He wondered if he just put his foot on John's backside and shoved if Carson would notice.

"John, what the bloidy … your eyes … Rodney, what the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he blurted out.

John waved and let out a rather wet raspberry. Carson backed up a step. "He didn't do anything but bring brownies and a rad video game. And now we're going to get snacks. And Coke. And Mountain Dew. Hey, wanna come?"

Rodney just lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Sure," Carson replied. "But I have some in my office. Let's go there instead."

"Really? Cool!"

_Yup_, Rodney thought. _Much much worse_.

-oOo-

Rodney sat in one of the chairs in front of Carson's desk, head hanging. He didn't feel this busted even when both the CSIS _and_ the CIA came down on him for his non-working sixth grade A-bomb science project – no uranium was involved, he didn't know what all the fuss was about. He couldn't bring himself to look at his friend – Carson made him sit all alone in his office for close to an hour before coming in and reading him the riot act. And that Carson's voice kept cracking with barely controlled mirth just made it all the more humiliating for some strange reason.

Because, really – when looked at from the view of scientific process, it was a legitimate experiment. And he took the concept of scientific process very seriously.

"Just exactly how much catnip did you give him?"

"I put a full tub in the batter, he ate fifteen brownies, so…." Rodney shrugged one shoulder as he made the calculations. "Twenty-six-point-one-seven grams." He heard a snort, and when he glanced up Carson had a hand over his mouth but his dimples were showing in their full glory. "Roughly."

Carson rubbed his mouth. "Thank God catnip isn't a controlled substance or you'd be facing felony charges right now." He had to choke back another laugh. "Catnip _brownies_? Bloidy hell!" Then Carson finally let the laughter out.

Rodney frowned murderously but could feel warmth in his cheeks. "Hey – I thought I had the mellow catnip. How was I to know that crap was the hyper kind?"

"Maybe yae should have tried it on a control first – wait, no pets allowed on Atlantis."

"You're getting too much enjoyment out of this. Isn't that against your Hippocratic Oath?"

"Watching you squirm, Rodney? Never. But I am pissed, deep down, and I'm thinking it would only be fair to lock you in a small room with John after he comes down from the buzz. I imagine the hangover is gonna be a killer."

Rodney gulped audibly. "Um, where is he, anyway?"

Carson leaned against his desk and crossed his arms. "I grabbed Jennifer and took him to the PT lab. She's having him help rearrange the place. He was bouncing around worse than you hopped up on a six pack of Red Bull and a box of fudge covered Oreos."

"Oh."

"But don't worry – I imagine he'll be too sore to do much to you since he was picking up the treadmills without any help."

Just then Keller came into the office, and her dimples were putting Carson's to shame. "He's finally crashing. He's in Exam 2." She looked at Rodney. "What in the world did you give him, Rodney?"

Rodney was back examining his feet. "Um, catnip."

"No. Really – what did you give him?" She glanced at Carson and got a nod. "Omigod – really?" She clapped her hands and giggled, then covered her mouth. "Oh, that is so, so funny. But mean. Really really mean. Catnip? You're awful!" But her tone of voice didn't put much weight behind the admonishment.

Carson pushed away from the desk and walked over to Rodney. He patted his friend on the shoulder. "I think you need to go apologize. We'll have the trauma team on standby."

Rodney just nodded his head dejectedly.

-oOo-

The only light on in the exam room was the small fluorescent under the cabinets so it was pretty dim. But he had no problem seeing John lying on the table, under a blanket, and one arm draped over his eyes.

"Your sister didn't make those, did she?"

John's voice was raspy, and low, and for the second time in the last few minutes Rodney gulped quite loudly. "Um. No."

"You are so dead, McKay."

Rodney shuffled into the room, his inner Yogi cringing and about to put him on the floor and show his throat in submission. But his embarrassed human side remained in control and kept him upright. "I'm, um, sorry."

"My mouth tastes like the entire Klingon army marched through it. In their socks."

Rodney grimaced in guilt fueled sympathy.

John lowered his arm and fixed Rodney with a murderous glare. Rodney could honestly say he hadn't seen eyes that bloodshot since the last time Ronon got pixed by Eira – pixie dust was worse than mace and pepper spray combined, and Shrek just couldn't resist calling her Tinkerbell…. "I'd kill you now, but I think my head would explode before I finished the job. So … you're safe for the time being."

Rodney let out a sigh of relief.

With both hands clamped to his temples, John slowly sat up and swung his legs around, the blanket just falling to the floor. He slowly slid to his feet like a ninety-year-old and squinted at Rodney. "You could've just _asked_." Then he made a quiet little _ow_ and squeezed his head like he really was trying to keep it from exploding.

Rodney cringed faintly. "I didn't think it would affect you that strongly. I was sure you'd just go lips down and drool, not go all, all, all Pussy Spazbo."

John just kind of grunted and started shuffling for the door. "If any pictures show up of me hugging Beckett, I'm drugging you and shaving you like a sheep next full moon. In the atrium. With lots of witnesses."

"Oh crap," Rodney mumbled. "Um, uh, shouldn't you stay here? I don't think you should…."

"Rodney – my head hurts, I feel like crap, I have a feeling I'm not going to be able to lift my arms in the morning, and I wanna go back to my room and come down in privacy and with some dignity." He stopped and turned to face him. "And thanks to your damn curiosity I have the munchies from hell."

"I'll, ah, get you some Cheetos."

"Two bags."

"You got it." Then he saw Carson and Jennifer approaching and decided to get the hell out of there before the combined wattage of their reproachful but still oddly amused frowns threatened to make his inner Yogi drop and show his belly to them. And they weren't even vargyr….

Rodney made the fastest snack run in history and still managed to get back to John's quarters before him, remove the last two remaining brownies, and leave a three bag peace offering. As he arranged the bags so they would be the first thing John would see as he stepped into his quarters – granting he was able to even see clearly because, holy crap, his eyes looked nasty and he could so easily imagine what his head felt like – he suddenly froze, then started to snicker. Because, seriously….

John hopped up on catnip grinned just like Chester Cheetah.

_End Note: But there's nothing cheesy about him. =^.^=_


End file.
